A Walk
by elilover2
Summary: Nick goes for a walk and reflects on his life. A song fic based off of One ore Time with Feeling. T for swearing.


**A/N: I could be all sentimental and be like "This book changed me...lots", but I'm not going to say this. Because, frankly, it didn't. I mean, if you went in thinking beating your girlfriend is ok, then yeah, maybe changed you. But, I'm guessing most of us went in like "Hitting a girl is wrong" and finished the book like "Hitting a girl is wrong". Not a big difference. What I will say is that I love the pairings Leo/Nick and Tom/Nick. Get ready. And, this is using the song One More Time with Feeling by Regina Spektor.**

**Nick's POV**

_Your stitches are all out, but your scars are healing wrong_

_And the helium balloon_

_Inside your room has come undone_

_And it's pushing up at the ceiling_

_And the flickering lights it cannot get beyond_

I walked with my hands stuffed in my pockets and my eyes squinched shut against the pelting rain. I passed the school building, looped around, and went the other way, walking in a path similar to my thoughts. Aimless. No one was out, it was a Saturday, the day of relaxing, especially when it was raining this hard. I swerved around a parked car and headed towards the park.

It was empty, as I expected. The swings were moving slightly from the breeze, and I shivered at the eeriness of it. It looked like they were being pushed by ghosts. Ghosts. Did I believe in ghosts? I believed in ghosts of a certain type, like the ghosts of wounds I felt. Ones that hadn't quite healed, even though they'd been mended. Not physical ones, eotional ones. Mental ones. Caused by my father, soothed and stitched by lies whispered in the dark to keep me company.

I'd grown wiser though, and those lie stitches had deteriorated. Now, the wounds were back, ghostly and painful, punching the air out of me with their stinging force.

_"Dumbass, you think I pay for you to break these!" He yelled, shaking the plates pieces in my face. Two pieces, jaggedly split, like my face when a tear fell downs its' smoothly rugged path. Back when I actually cried. I was 12 now, old enough to think for myself. Old enough to hold it in._

I shook the memory away and plopped down on one of the swings. The water instantly soaked into my jeans, but I was wet enough already to just ignore it. I pushed my legs out, the swing groaned and shifted back, I brought them in, forwards. I was moving, slightly, but of my own free will. That had to count for something.

I stared at the rain drenched sky and spotted a bright blob of something suspended between two clouds. A balloon. A big, red balloon. It lifted marginally upward, only to be forced down again because of the rain. I sighed, my eyes glued to the pitiful sight. I was that balloon. Pushed down by everyone, never getting anywhere. Anytime I went up, I was forced back down.

I couldn't stand the sight of it. I left.

_Everyone takes turns, now it's your's to play the part_

_And they're sitting all around you holding_

_ Copies of your charts_

_And the misery in their eyes is synchronized_

_And reflected into your's_

I continued my journey of no importance, balancing myself on the yellow line in the middle of the road, praying a car wouldn't come, and praying it would. Death is better than life, but life is better than death. The age old predicament that had plagued man for centuries. Or, maybe just me for 16 years. I wasn't sure.

I waded in a large puddle, thinking about my friends. They had all ditched me after what had happened between me and Caitlin. Which was ironic, considering they were the one's calling her fat and making her feel bad. I was just...helping. Helping out my girlfriend, who I loved.

Aside from the fact that they also partook in some slurs and insults, they had been through moments just like this. Moments in the spotlight, far away from the audience and passerby, who were all gawking. And, I had stuck by them. For Saint it had been steroids, Liana had been racial slurs when we found out her grandmother spoke only Spanish, and so on. Everyone had bad times, mine was just a little worse. I had stuck by them, why couldn't they stick by me?

Sometimes, when I looked at Liana, I saw pity. Understanding. Then, cold derision.

Tom didn't even look.

Why couldn't they stick by me?

_"How do you even have friends! All you do is take, you never give! You never do a damn thing for anyone! You're a useless son of a bitch! Look at me! Look at me!" I looked and saw those bottomless green eyes. I got lost in them, they were so deep. I fell into those eyes and never returned, not until it was safe. Not until the bombs had dropped and the bruises were just beginning to throb._

_Throb._

I cursed at the cold water, seething even though it was my fault. I had taken a chance. Taken. Taken.

I walked on.

_Hold on_

_One more time with feeling_

_Try it again_

_Breathing's just a rhythm_

_Say it in your mind until_

_You know that the words are right_

_This is why we fight_

Just keep holding on. That was something I told myself everyday. Hold on and try to survive. Like any bad situation, it was all about surviving. No more, no less. I'd tried to do more before. I'd tried to show him that I was worth something, but it hadn't helped. I'd put my all into giving him something, he'd put his all into slapping the shit out of me. Eventually, I'd learned to just breath. It was the easiest thing to do.

I'd convinced myself that breathing was enough. Repeated it in the dark of night and the light of day too many times to count, too little times to believe. I'd rolled those words around in my mouth until the taste of them was as familiar as the feel of an icepack on a new bruise, but they'd never sounded right.

They'd never sounded right, and I'd exploded, taking it out on Caitlin.

Can't you see, Kittycat? Can't you tell?

_"It'll get better, it'll get better." I mumbled it in the moments before sleep, hugging my arms around me. I said it again and again, finally lulled to sleep, the fantasy of the word "better" a sick lullabye. I woke up the next morning with the words on my lips and the fantasy in my head. But, I'd quickly lost it, the magic replaced by cold words and a wall of tension._

"God," I murmured it, "GOD!" I yelled it. I pelted the sky, a reverse rain made of the ice of my voice. It fell back to Earth with a bang and an echo that lasted forever.

"There is no God." The echo. No. Me.

I moved on.

_You thought by now you'd be so much better_

_Than you are_

_You thought by now they'd see_

_That you have come so far_

_And the pride inside their eyes is synchronized_

_To a love you'll never know_

_So much more than you can know_

I shuffled along the sidewalk now, keeping my eyes on my feet. I concentrated on how they moved, left then right. Left then right. Like a machine, not like a person. But, I was a person. At least, I thought I was. Hoped I would be. Hoped a lot of things. I hoped Caitlin would help me. With the sharing of my father's abuse, I'd thought I'd get some kind of reward. I thought she would be able to make me human, but she hadn't.

I clenched my fist, gritted my teeth, felt the dull of ache of knuckle against soft flesh and released both with a gasp. She'd showed me that I was less human than I'd thought.

"But, I've done so good." I practically whined, slumping against a hard brick wall, "Why can't they see that?" They being my friends, my dad. Caitlin. I'd been so good, I'd grown so much. When I looked at them, I wanted to see pride. I wanted someone to be proud of me, just once. I wanted them all to look at Nicos Andreas, Nick Andreas...Nicky. And smile.

I wanted to see love in their eyes, goddamn it!

Love like I'd seen in my mother's eyes. Love like when she'd kissed me goodbye.

_"Nicky?" She breathed over me, making my eyes flutter. I was only five, I didn't see much. I only saw my mother. Not the black eye, or the sad smile. I had the vision of a child, seeing magic, but losing reality._

_"Momma?" I yawned sleepily_ _and she pulled me to her chest. Her nightgown was scratchy, but her arms were warm. I nodded slightly, leaning into her. She hugged me to her, and I was so happy. We stayed like that, and my eyes began to close. Just as I was about to fall back into my innocent sleep, she whispered something._

_"Goodbye, Nicky." It was perplexing, but I fell asleep anyway. In the morning, she was gone._

"Stupid bitch." I muttered, then louder, "I didn't mean that, Momma!"

Of course not. Like she hadn't meant to leave me with an abusive father. She had been looking out for herself, like I was looking out for myself. She was surviving. I was surviving.

I wanted to see her again.

I would give anything to see her again.

_Hold on_

_One more time with feeling_

_Try it again_

_Breathing's just a rhythm_

_Say it in your mind until_

_You know that the words are right_

_This is why we fight_

I was back at the school, the rain was letting up, and the sky was darkening. I knew that I needed to head home, but I didn't want to. I wanted to lay down on the soaked asphalt and melt into the chipped ground. I wanted to let it soak me up, never to be seen again.

"Hold on." I said it just for the feel of the words, because I didn't really believe them. They were empty shells, storage units for false hope. They would hit the ground and shatter, spilling dreams and wishes everywhere, a mess. It was better to just live. No hopes. Just air. No dreams. Just food. I could stay like that forever. But, of course, I had to try. Try to love my father, try to get him to love me. It never worked, but it was all I had left to do.

I couldn't just breath.

"Hold on." The words felt heavy and clumsy, tripping over my tongue, tumbling over my teeth. I spit them out, allowing them to taste the ground, stepping on them as I made my way home.

"Fuck that."

_This is why we fight_

This is why we fight

"This is why we fight, Caitlin." I whispered to the breeze as the words stumbled along behind me.

"This is why we fight."


End file.
